


Comfort She Never Knew

by TokioSunset



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Enemies to ???, F/M, Fingering, Pre Canon, hoestly pretty vanilla sex but whatever, very god damn nsfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 16:58:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7276288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TokioSunset/pseuds/TokioSunset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Symmetra finds a new dimension of pleasure with the help of Lúcio and trippy music.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort She Never Knew

**Author's Note:**

> Every ship deserves at least some smut - even bad smut. That's where I come in. Constructive criticism is appreciated, as always. Enjoy!

She’d only given in because she was lonely.

He had become everything she was not. A rebellious fighter, an outspoken leader, somebody who commanded as well as he entertained. Lead by firm beliefs, supported by his talents, he became beloved by his community. He lived to inspire hope and the want for progress in the hearts and minds of his people.

What was she? A recluse who stood against everything he promised.

Order was harmony, and in harmony – civilization. A favela would not stand strong in chaos, though he proved to her it could. Vishkar could not fall under the wicked spell of corruption, but it did. She was a woman who made the world a better place, but she wasn’t, and she couldn’t – not without supporters. Rio de Janeiro cheered for Lúcio and detested her.

Vishkar’s garment fit her as an omen; a harbinger of shady business deals and fraud which spread with each step. Away from her home, her friends and family, with only a handful of dishonest colleagues to keep her company, she began to envy the freedom fighter. Wherever he went, the man had companions. His music brought change and unity as her hard light only built walls of segregation. Separate the stench from the cologne, the colors from the polished, meticulous cyan light – Lúcio’s music broke down the barricades and blurred the lines. He showed her this. He played music – melodies so beautiful they left her eyes misty and her hands shaking. She would never understand the public’s hatred of order, but if that man’s creation was audible discord, she loved every note. Her body tensed. Her spirit soared. For once she felt connected to a higher power; truly one with the society she wished to better.

When he played, she was not alone. When he played, she never ordered him to cease. His band of brothers and vehement supporters grew in numbers, outweighing those who stood behind Vihkar. Lately, she began to loathe the sterile halls and curt, formal greetings. Hands clasped behind her back. Hair tucked behind her ears. Too alien. Too suffocating. Fluorescent, metallic and austere, it overwhelmed her senses more than the colors and smells in the favela. So she escaped nightly, she crept underground.

She met him, face-to-face. He asked questions, she answered. He played music, she listened. Night after night, until she heard his tunes in her ears as she worked on her architechture. Hues of green and yellow and blue crept into her fingertips, first as nail polish, then as clothing. More visits – they were on first-name basis, somewhat distant but familiar enough. Another week and he gave her a tour of the neighborhood she wanted to reconstruct. Protestors rallied outside and spewed slogans, hoisted banners and signs in the air. The sight was too much, overwhelming her senses, making her eyes blur and her fingers twitch. He took her hand.

One touch was all it took.

One touch to recall what a lonely life took away.

One touch, one grip, one careful smile and a gesture of gratitude. “This is my home,” he said and pointed at a shack. “I grew up in this place. If you could see it for all its life, for all its joy, I bet you wouldn’t spend another second with those Vishkar vampires.”

Satya’s fingers clenched around his palm. He looked at her, odd, confused. His eyes – Gods, his eyes – they spoke of a passion she never learned until then, but it was stirring in the pit of her stomach, pinning down every ounce of self-control. Despite her upbringing, regardless of conduct, she couldn’t help but to feel consumed.

She grabbed his head and kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him! It wasn’t long until he took her head in his hands; silky skein of dark hair coiling hi gloved hands. Soft and smooth, her lips were the sweetest he tasted. As she pulled back, he pulled back in, and somewhere in that dance they stumbled through the front door of his home.

Loneliness became an abstract word. At that moment, pressed against his closed front door, hands running down his spine, she only knew of company. His hands were so hot her skin burned. His kisses so tender she wanted to cry.

When he moved from her, she rest her forehead against his. Thick, blond-tipped dreadlocks felt coarse under her fingers. His eyes, she saw, were closing along with his palm. His fingers embraced her manicured hands, putting them between their cheats. She felt his heartbeat through her knuckles. Her breathing steadied, though it took superhuman dedication to bring it to a normal pace.

“I’ve…”

She spoke through a shudder, and her voice was breathy along the shell of his ear. “I’ve never done this. Not like this.” She shook her head against his hairline. “Not with the likes of…”

His eyes opened at once, thought this was the extent of his movement. Moments before he was a picture of tranquility, but now he was angered. Deep brown eyes, filled with unbridled passion of a flaming sun, tore down her accusation without a word. Full lips were still parted; his teeth flashed at her. The grip on her hands hadn’t strengthened, but it was close. Somehow, this subtle change only made her seem more determined. She pulled out her hands and slid them over his sides, across the curve and indent of his spine. He gasped, arching into her.

Her fingers embraced his shoulder blades. Pulling him in, she relished in the sensation of feeling pressed down, trapped between an oak door and a wall of muscle and sinew. Coarse hairs of his patch of facial hair scratched her collarbone. With little forethought, she titled her body against his, hips bucking outward.

“I want you,” she whispered. “I’ve never wanted anything. Not like this.” Somehow in awe with her boldness, she cupped his head as they shared a hard, open-mouthed kiss. Fervent and wild, he held her head and neck and shoulders as his tongue met hers, dancing and parting and slinking away, meeting in slivers which left them craving more. Her teeth sank into his bottom lip and pulled – he hissed at first, then moaned.

“God damn,” he breathed out. His breath turned to a deep chuckle as he shook his head. “You’re a freak.”

His muscles rippled a he picked her up by the thighs. In a couple of steps she was on his couch, facing the door she was pressed on just a second ago. With little thought, she adjusted the pillows she set her head on, and watched as he removed his shirt.

Tantalizing was the only way to describe it.

As the tight yellow cotton brushed against his abdomen, she saw the lines digging from his hips. A V-shaped pathways, split in the middle by a line of coarse black hairs. Lúcio was a slim man, but built as a statue, each ridge defined and glistening. Ebony skin, rendered brown and gold by the faint streetlamp light, became a play of contours in front of her as the shirt traversed across the hard mounds of his stomach, the smooth flat chest, the padded shoulders and finally over his head. The last motion sent his dreads flailing about, swinging as he crumpled the shirt into a hard clump and threw it on the ground. Satya looked at him, mouth ajar until she noticed the garment.

“You should fold that.”

An eyebrow shot across most of his forehead. “Oh really?” He kicked his neon sneakers away, each hitting the wall with blunt force. The two thuds made her brow crinkle.

“Yes, really. Or better yet, wash it.”

“Uh-uh,” he said with a grin as he undid his belt. It zipped along the line of his hips, and soon met the clump.

Satya grew impatient, even angry at his insubordination. She settled on his couch, scooting along further on the too-hard pillows. “Pick that up right now.”

“Really?” His thumb and index finger hooked his trouser fly. It went down, deliberately slow. Her eyes tracked his fingers as they went lower, and this gave him a certain dose of smugness.

“Yes, really,” she said. A node lodged into her throat. She pressed her knees together.

“Whatchu gonna do? Spank me?”

“Yes.”

At those words he tripped over himself, falling onto the wall. He jumped on one leg, his trousers hanging at his ankle as his face contorted into a painful grimace. The back of his head rang even as he parted from the flat surface. Satya pressed a hand to her pursed lips and laughed – her wry, sardonic laugh, brought on by schadenfreude.

Lúcio caught her laughter as he put a hand to his hot head. The childlike features adorning her otherwise stern features coaxed a smile on his behalf. It wasn’t long until he was smirking, standing on all fours above her, his kisses playful but firm, unable to break apart.

Her dress was made of hard light, and vanished as she flicked her wrist and shimmied across his body. Satin-soft fabric across his abdomen was replaced with soft fuzz on her stomach, the silk of her underwear, the pert brown nipples already pebble-hard. Clothing disappeared in a flurry of glitter and haze. She was exposed, cold to the touch, but within the cone of heat their bodies created she felt like her blood was boiling. She writhed into him, hands over his glutes, his thighs, as robin’s egg fingernails grazed the insides of his legs.

His boxers, purple checkers upon yellow, hitched up across his thighs. Too tight already, he concentrated on his breathing so she couldn’t tell. She could, however, and put a hand across the covered shaft, squeezing tight.

A corner of her mouth ticked upwards in admiration. “It’s certainly what I expected.” She cupped his length, his width, the cluster where the rod began as Lúcio ground himself into her palm; his hot lips on the crook of her neck. “Proportional to the length of your hands. Straight…” A thumb trailed across the tip, already outlined within. The ridge of her finger caressed the moist cleft in slow, circular motions. “Tilting upwards at an angle of twenty…” She bit her lip, calculating. “Twenty-seven degrees. I imagine it provides a pleasant experience.”

Lúcio only grunted into her collarbone. Satya closed her eyes, satisfied by his lack of reply. Somewhere between his approving grunt and her reaching for his member, her ears perked and picked up music – slow, booming, beautiful music, a sort of harmony in a chaotic medium which only he could create. The beat was set to her rhythm; the stroking speed at which she was comfortable. Her fingers were tight and her teeth gritted. She saw colors inside his dimmed living room. Beautiful hues of azure and magenta, emerald and jade, lilac and cyan and violet which would normally push her into vertigo, now conjoined in her experience and made her experience vision like never before.

Synesthesia, she recalled, was a powerful tool to command, and he used it on her. His hands were on her shoulders but she felt pressure on her thighs. Lips covered her cheek, marred her neck, bit her shoulders and fluttered across her hips. She held onto him tightly, falling victim to the dancing colors which rose up her consciousness to near euphoria.

He cupped her, he grabbed her, he pinned her down and scratched her back. In reality, he had a hand down her silken panties and his lips over her own. Yet Satya was trapped within a cosmic orgy of sensation, one with all the lovers of the world, feeling the passion of lovemaking, channeled through music, through hallucination, through each shallow gasp and bucking of the hips. Sweat stuck on her skin and she shivered, suddenly naked, her underwear on the ground along with Lúcio’s shirt.

Long locks of raven tangled in her fingers. Her hands shot up over her head and she twisted her body, subject to his fingers. Knees bent, she felt him enter two fingers; the thick of his palm brushed against the tightly-coiled dark hairs across her mound. Rubbing herself on the skin of his palm, she stroked her thighs and breasts and neck.

“Yes…”

Her body was tight as a loaded crossbow. Her buttocks lifted. His fingers went deeper. He pumped to the rhythm of the song, yet faster somehow, harder, incorporating a “come hither” motion which sent her into gasps and whimpers.

“Yeees!”

Scooting away, he moved his head in between her thighs. His fingers stopped moving, just for a second as he trailed his tongue against her wetness, savoring each drop. He felt a quickening in her hips; she froze, fell silent, and only exhaled as he moved to lap at the folds.

Lúcio ate pussy as one ate a peach, barring biting of any kind. He licked, he sucked, he tasted every millimeter of beautiful dark skin she offered. Fingers trailing the folds, catching her clit between his fingers, working it with the stiff hard tip of his tongue, he enjoyed her until her juices coated his lips and chin, glistening in the moonlight. Wiping away her scent with his forearm, he lifted his head and gasped for air. As he descended back, deep in her legs, he allowed her to press down on his ears with her thighs as she liked. He brought her to climax – a shaking, cursing climax – during which she grabbed the back of his head and forced him in with such force his nose bent to the side.

The power of synesthesia, he told himself. The power of titillation and mood-setting.

He could hardly enjoy his accomplishment, as she returned her lucidness and pounced on him, yanking away his boxers to expose an erect, throbbing cock. Forced up to the edge of the couch, he sat up as she straddled him; one calf on each side of his hips. She squatted over him, fingernails clutching his shoulders. She came upon him; velvet smooth and tight. He grabbed her buttock for composure.

She had him, trapped him, and made him say her name again and again. Her hips moved with music; it was composed only for her. Illuminated by moonlight, sweat over her body seemed like fine oil, coating her torso and making her shine. Her face was glowing as a star, her hair was matted and clumped, falling over her shut eyes. Licking her lips, she sped up the pace, taking Lúcio’s every inch and stirring atop his thighs.

He had her in his hands but he was not in control. Seated on his calves, leaning on the couch, he twisted to keep up with her; sweat and oil and sex slithering, creating a silhouette, becoming one as they aligned. He called her but was silenced as she sped up, and her name was lost in expletives reserved for Gods and devils.

Merged, understanding, the found peace within an ancient conflict, and they held each other to keep it, moaning all the while. Music grew louder though Lúcio had nothing to do with it. Their bodies were iron hot. Breathing quickened, Satya tasted herself on his chin. He put her nipple in his mouth and sucked until her spine curved backwards. Her hips bucked to and fro as she grew sick of jumping, and this was when he needed to slow her down.

“Satya,” he breathed. “I’m so close…”

She accepted this not as a warning but as a challenge. She reached for his buttocks and slapped both at once, continuing to hold on even as she rocked on him, tits bouncing in his face, ass clapping over his thighs. Riding him, she kept looking into his eyes, the sole spot of brown in the room of changing colors, the sole grounding force within the madhouse of desire. He watched her too; he saw her lust, her drive, her desperation underlying the show of dominance.

He finished as he felt her walls tighten around his cock. He held her down, bucking up, and up, and up again, until the remnants of his orgasm were only twitches and open-mouthed gasps.

His heartbeat was rapid beneath her palm. She hesitated for a moment, waiting for her vision to clear.

The music had stopped and his home was nothing but a home. She had not reached her nirvana. She had not found El Dorado, the Holy Grail, or the apex of heaven. She did find solace in his arms, and heated comfort she never knew.

He looked up at her face with a smile, still inside her trembling form. They kissed and kissed and greeted the morning in a maze of limbs and matted hair, safe and sound.

The sun, she thought on one curious opportunity, perfectly matched his eyes.


End file.
